The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  Once under the boughs of the oldest living organism east of the Mississippi, most visitors to the magnificent tree were awed into silence. Not so two little girls that Amarintha watched as they ran around the tree, attempting to circumvent their parents and climb onto the thick grey limbs that touched the ground. The tree shaded 17,000 square feet of ground and the trunk was more than twenty-five feet in circumference. No thinking person could ever stand and gaze upon this tree without a feeling of insignificance. Amarintha, Fannie, and Ava brought out their sandwiches, ate—and then took another walk around the tree’s trunk.

  When Amarintha’s phone vibrated, she moved away from the tree next to an old wooden bench. She saw her doctor’s number and answered, her breath squeezed in her chest. “What did you find out?” At first, she couldn’t hear anything and then Dick coughed. She plopped down on the bench, her knees knocking together.

  “We ran your blood, but it might have been contaminated. Can you come back downtown? I’d like to ask my partner to see you too.”

  She groaned, and he heard it. “Ok, I know you don’t exactly like the guy, but he is the president of the National Oncologists Association. If we need some specialized equipment or attention from the National Institutes of Health, he can get us that.”

  “Why would NIH be interested in me, Dick? What are you not telling me?”

  “If your blood results are accurate, it appears that your body is creating antibodies against the cancer, and has done so since your last tests. If the last round of chemo had this kind of effect, well, that could change the prognosis for similar patients.”

  She was silent. Worrying about every other brain cancer patient out there was very low on her to-do list.

  “Ok, I’ll come in tomorrow afternoon.”

  Chapter 35

  “Thompson, are you telling me that your client Amarintha Sims just happened to dig up what we are all looking for? That is too convenient.”

  Thompson was with Brook Reynolds in the same conference room as the day before, pungent with the smell of old coffee and pizza. Brook had sent one FBI agent with two Centers for Disease Control field investigators to Richard’s house. The CDC investigators carried locked metal boxes—one for the reliquary and the other for samples. She had opted for plain clothes, knowing that white-suited men stepping out of an ambulance would cause quite a stir in the neighborhood—not what the she needed right now. The CDC’s job was to get samples from the reliquary, Richard himself, and anywhere in the house that the reliquary had touched. The FBI agent’s job was to make sure Richard Anderson stayed put.

  “Mr. Molotov,” Brook said.

  “Please, call me Sergei. I insist.” Thompson wanted to groan.

  “Ok, Sergei. The reliquary is at a local hospital that has a lab trained to deal with pathogens—the same team that was trained a few years ago when Ebola showed up in the U.S. We have a representative from the Vatican, who arrived last night, and he will keep Rome informed of the results of the tests on the reliquary.”

  “Sure, sure.” Sergei was not interested in the safe handling of the bacteria. He was thousands of miles away from any danger. “What I am wondering about is the fact that the person who somehow had the reliquary in 1985, over three hundred years after being stolen, is apparently related to the owner of the property where the reliquary was found. This Amarintha Sims, Thompson’s client? Tell me, Agent Reynolds, does Thompson look like a designer to you?”

  Brook looked sympathetically at Thompson. “Sergei,” she said. “Sims did indeed have a daughter and that daughter is Amarintha Sims. Her father, Charles Sims, bought the property in the 1970s. The picture of him with the artifact was taken late in 1985 during a gathering to highlight new radiocarbon equipment at the North Charleston Naval Base. The employees were asked to bring in their oldest possessions, and the science team showed off their new equipment for dating the items. It was a public relations gimmick. We still do not know exactly what this team was doing. A month after the picture was taken, anthrax broke out.”

  “Where did Sims get the artifact? Does anyone know? And who outside of your team knows about the reliquary?” Sergei asked.

  “We don’t know where he got it,” replied Thompson.

  Brook said, “Amarintha Sims and Richard Anderson, the neighbor who lives next to the property, were the only ones who handled it. He is under voluntary quarantine. Two workers actually dug up the trunk, but they were not present when Amarintha opened it. The CDC has told us that based on the sequence of events only Amarintha Sims and Richard Anderson might have been exposed.”

  Sergei laughed. “You believe that, Agent Reynolds? A nasty bug that has been alive for almost 350 years surely has some tricks up its sleeve.”

  Sergei had a point. Two reliquaries had once shared an altar in a French convent. One had caused anthrax in Rome. The other, stolen in 1685, had popped up over three hundred years later and likely had caused an outbreak of anthrax in

  Charleston.

  Neither of them replied. Brook said, “Amarintha Sims was at her mother’s last night. As soon as Thompson received the picture from Richard, we sent agents there but Amarintha, her mother, and Amarintha’s daughter, Ava, were not there.”

  “Not there? How curious,” said Sergei. “What have you told Jack Strong about his wife? I’m assuming you are proceeding as though the tip from Istanbul is valid. I read in Thompson’s report that Kate Strong is an expert in Christian artifacts. Do you believe this missing reliquary has anything to do with her disappearance?”

  “We have told Mr. Strong that Interpol received a credible tip that his wife was kidnapped. Mr. Strong is being looked after by the Charleston Police Department.” Thompson noted that Brook did not share the details of the computer’s prediction; that Bunin was stealing artifacts, including reliquaries, in order to find viable germs.

  Sergei made no reply. Thompson added, “Strong does know that we’re looking for one reliquary, but he thinks it’s because of its value. Detective Edson will get the State Department involved. They will help manage the family.”

  Thompson heard the click of a lighter, and a deep inhalation from Sergei before he spoke. “Ok. I have another question. Is there any possibility that Amarintha Sims or her family could be involved with Alternative Auctions?”

  Thompson thought of Amarintha: her brave face, her hairless head, her smile, and the tone of her voice when she talked about Ava, or Fannie—he hadn’t met either of them, but felt he knew them both. He remembered blundering through Richard’s garden and spying her, watching her grab her stomach, lean over and vomit, and then fall to the ground sobbing. He had backed away before she saw him. When she did see him ten minutes later, there had been no sign of what had happened, and she had grinned at him.

  “No, no chance at all,” he said.

  Brook ended the call with Sergei. Thompson stood up, and she waved him back into his chair. She said, “Thompson, there are members of the respective teams who are asking that you be dismissed from the briefings.”

  “Suits me. I’ll go home today,” he laughed. Then he saw her expression, and said, “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I am.”

  Thompson felt a flare of intense anger and a childish desire to bolt from the room and slam the door. “Who exactly is concerned and why?”

  Brook looked at him steadily. “Too many coincidences and my bosses hate coincidences. You working for Amarintha Sims. You recommending Strong to Amarintha. Jack Strong’s wife working for Adam Chalk. You spend a good bit of time with Ms. Sims and Mr. Strong, don’t you?”

  Thompson took a breath. “Yes, I do spend time with them, but working under my cover, both of these relationships are understandable. I was introduced to Amarintha by a woman from the Board of Architectural Review and to Jack Strong by a clerk at Morris Sokol Furniture. Do your superiors suspect the BAR and the furniture store a
s well?”

  Brook Reynolds chewed her lip. “I want you to know that I believe that these events are just coincidences, no matter what anyone else believes. One of the Washington agents believes we should hold you indefinitely until we resolve whether or not Bunin is trying to make a biological weapon.” She added, “Detective Edson threatened to quit if you were released from the Task Force. He says we would know a lot less if it weren’t for you.”

  Thompson felt strangely gratified that Frank had stuck up for him. “It’s not even 9:00 a.m. and I’ve already found the reliquary. You’ve got twenty other people trying to figure out if the damned thing is dangerous and what Bunin’s motive might be to kidnap Kate Strong, and you want to sideline me?” He was angry now. “So what do you want me to do?”

  Brook stood up. “For now, go home. Think of this as an unofficial temporary hiatus. I’m sure we will clear this up, and you’ll be back with us soon, Agent Denton.” Brook touched his shoulder, and walked out.

  Sally Heath came into the room, and gestured for Thompson to follow her. She led him down the stairs, with more hip movement than was necessary, to the entrance foyer. “May I have your key card, Agent Denton?” Sally said, and held out her hand, a smug, self-satisfied smile on her face.

  Istanbul

  Chapter 36

  Kate was slouched on one of the rolling chairs, lethargic and barely awake, her depression acting as a weight on her body that prevented her from moving. Zora Vulkov entered the room holding a tray, and suggested that Kate might want to put on some lipstick, tossing a tube in her lap. The idea struck Kate as so ludicrous that for a moment she thought about throwing the tube back at the woman. The look in the older woman’s eyes stopped her. After Vulkov left, Kate went into the bathroom, and opened the lipstick case. She carefully removed the roll of paper, and smoothed it against her knee. It looked to be a piece of paper from an adding machine, torn in a long strip. Vulkov had printed a message:

  Bunin has a pharmaceutical company in Russia. He has guaranteed Russia’s government that he can create a bacteria that will target only the people of the Middle East. You must not tell him which of the reliquaries may contain any ancient biological material, as he will have his people steal them. I knew Bunin many years ago in the old USSR. We both worked in a government division that studied biological warfare capabilities. I was able to leave a short message at Interpol’s office in Istanbul. I believe they will investigate and hope that by now your family knows you are being kept here as a prisoner. The safest course of action is to tell Bunin that the reliquary he wants is in the Vatican. Even Bunin will have a difficult time stealing something from inside those walls. In the meantime, I am pretending to work with him. Do not lose hope.

  Another piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. Kate read the paper again and then, turning on the sink to cover the sound, shredded the paper into the toilet. Bunin thought he would find viable bacteria in the false reliquaries. Russia’s government wanted to let loose a biological weapon in the Middle East? It was crazy. She sat in the bathroom, holding her head and moving it forward and backward trying to understand Vulkov’s note.

  When that didn’t help her think, Kate went to the bedroom to lie down. Images of medieval Europe, its cities deserted and the dead stacked like wood, ran through her head. Entire towns had been stricken with the bubonic plague, the survivors stumbling down deserted streets, their livestock rotting, dead from neglect, their wells contaminated, and no one to work the fields. Those who did not die from the plague, their lymph nodes bursting inside of them, died from starvation. During the 1300s, some estimated that 100 million out of the world population of 450 million had died in Europe. It took four hundred years for the world to recover to pre-plague population numbers.

  The bacteria had fundamentally changed the world and plunged Europe into a decline that lasted centuries. Relics and reliquaries held center stage as the populace surrounded cathedrals begging the priests to bring out the sacred objects so that the people could plead with the dead saints to intercede in their behalf. Processions, with reliquaries held high, weaved their way through the filthy streets, led by priests in their finest vestments, the people stumbling behind, begging God to save them. Even as the dying collapsed, their orifices spilling dark clotted blood, the people believed God could provide a cure. The cult of relics gained power as miraculous cures and deliverances were attributed to one saint or another.

  Bunin wants to let loose something like this?

  Kate knew that, in many ways, little had changed in the past one thousand years. She pictured the evangelist who asked his viewers to place their ailing parts against the television to receive a miraculous cure—a cure that would work only if you called an 800 number and provided your credit card number first.

  Bunin was trying to fulfill the mission of those long-dead Byzantine priests who seeded the reliquaries with plague, smallpox, and whatever else plagued Constantinople at the time, seeking to avenge the Byzantine Empire’s rape by its fellow Christians in the Fourth Crusade. This time the target was not the French but the people who lived in the old Byzantine Empire: the Jews and Arabs. In the depths of her depression, Kate wondered if this wasn’t what the world deserved.

  Charleston

  Chapter 37

  Sally didn’t notice that Thompson was gripping the report from Monsignor Ogier as she escorted him out the door. Neither Brook nor Frank had bothered to pick up copies. He understood. The reliquary’s history wasn’t relevant to the FBI, at least not at the moment.

  As he walked back to his condominium, Thompson wondered what value Kate Strong could provide Anton Bunin. Maybe reliquaries hid new pathogens; blood from a saint that had been dripped into a glass bottle and never opened; teeth whose pulp could be crushed and analyzed; bones whose marrow might harbor unknown microbes.

  What would Frank do with Jack Strong? Thompson doubted the man would wait submissively while the FBI, police department and the State Department came up with a plan to rescue Kate. He had worked with Jack long enough to know that patience was not one of his virtues.

  Thompson trudged up the stairs to his condominium, opened the door, tossed the Vatican’s report on his desk and began to brew some coffee. Should he call Sergei? No, the FBI SAC certainly would have called him right after dismissing Thompson.

  When confronted with inexplicable events, humans tended to blame the outsider. The individuals that had been working so enthusiastically less than twelve hours before, treating Thompson as one of their own, now just as mindlessly agreed with their superiors that now the agent bore watching. Would they just watch him? He wondered whether he was really in danger of arrest and thought about calling Jack. Maybe they could get the same lawyer.

  What should he do about Amarintha? Did the FBI believe he could be involved? He understood why the FBI needed to test her for exposure to anthrax. Would that be the end of it? He realized that of all problems he was mulling over, ensuring Amarintha’s welfare was the most important.

  Thompson picked up his phone to call her.

  “It’s Thompson. I need you to call me when you get this message. Richard told me about the box that you found at your lot, and there may be a problem. Call me.”

  Glancing over at the Vatican briefing document, he decided to look at the summary on page one. It appeared to be new, the report typed on bright white paper.

  To: Brook Reynolds, Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent in Charge of South Carolina

  From: Monseigneur Giuseppe Ogier

  Attached is the full report on the reliquary. The item was stolen in 1685 and brought to Charleston by a Huguenot woman named Marin Postel. The events leading up to the theft are documented in the attached report, first written in 1885. The first three pages that describe the item in detail are likely the only pages your agents will need to become familiar with as they conduct their search.

  Thompson reviewed
the next three pages, which also were printed on new paper. The pages described the artifact in detail, including the red gemstone. The last sentence stated that the red diamond in the middle of the flower could be worth $10-15 million.

  The following pages were marked as copies of originals. Based on the typeface, the document appeared to have been created on an early typewriter.

  Property of the Vatican Archives

  Commissioned by Cardinal Pierre Manigault

  From reports on the Trial of Abbess Marie Postel in 1686 for the crime of heresy

  This report respectfully compiled in 1890 by Monsignor Jean Lavelle, Curator of Documents at the Apostolic Palace, 1885-1910.

  Transcribed and edited, from the original report

  This report was created based on statements from eyewitnesses, each of whom were present at all or part of the events this report will describe. The eyewitnesses were Sister Simone, portress, Sister Theresa, infirmarian, and Sister Anne, sacristan, all resident at the Convent of Corbie in the year of our Lord, 1685. Madame Pepin from Dieppe, former Huguenot, also bore witness to these events. This report was commissioned by Cardinal Manigault, in 1890, who wished to understand the circumstances leading to the only known persecution of an abbess for the grave crime of heresy.

  Thompson was hooked now. Monsignor Lavelle had been asked to report on an event that had occurred almost two hundred years prior to the request by Bishop Manigault. It was a story of a Huguenot woman, a thief, who he suspected would be found to be an ancestor to Charles Sims and therefore to Amarintha. When this was all over, maybe he would show this report to her.

  Part II

  Outside Paris: 1685